


Bedtime at Rue Férou

by Arithanas



Series: The Count and his Valet [3]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: 24/7, D/s, Dubious Consent, M/M, Master/Servant, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-13
Updated: 2010-11-13
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:04:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1621, Paris. The master returned home, drunk and in need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime at Rue Férou

That night I was restless, I kept walking about in front of the door, as a hen does not know where to lay the egg. For the first time since we moved to Paris my master had left home without me. I obeyed him, as I always did, although was out of my mind for not knowing if he was safe and sound.  
  
The steps on the stairs announced me my master’s return and I hurried to meet him. His unsteady gait and his slumped shoulders said clearly that he had returned drunker than usual. God knows how he had managed to reach home, but it was clear my master needed my help to reach the bedside. I knew what to do. Untie his doublet did not take me too long, but getting him off of his breeches was a little harder work because he was not cooperating. Soon after, I was kneeling on the floor and tried to strip him his hose.  
  
My master took me by surprise, his hand pulled my hair and forced me to see him, his free hand he pointed to his belly and I did not even dropped my eyes, I knew very well that he had a hard-on and I knew what he wanted, but I was in no mood to reward him for being a bad master.  
  
I held his gaze, challenging him to force me to do what he wanted. His eyes were half closed, drowned in alcohol, but still he knew how to let me know that his will was the only one that counted on this issue.  
  
He was the master.  
  
Before he grew impatient, without much desire, I lifted his shirt and lowered my head to kiss his abdomen letting my hands caress his balls, which were very sensitive, that was a sure way to get him to open the legs as if to invite me to continue. My tongue followed the path marked by the hair that seemed to have been done on purpose to tell me where I should go.  
  
I broke contact to accommodate myself by the bed before continuing my work. My master must have thought I had decided to disobey as he made the attempt to get up, but seeing that I was busy putting myself in a better position, he smiled and made every effort to help me. That night he was anxious to receive caresses and he did not care if they were mine.  
  
Kneeling on the floor, I used one of my hands to roll his balls between my fingers at the moment my breath touched his cock my master ran his fingers through my hair to encourage me to continue. Rebelliousness took hold of me when he started treating me as if I was his pet: he was the one in need, not me, so I would set the pace.  
  
First, I ran my tongue in half circle on the underside of the crown, drawing a wet trail that made him shiver and moan under his breath that I should hurry up, an order that I had no intention to obey. I used my tongue to caress the side of his cock, but I took care not to put it in my mouth, which was what he wanted, I would have him waiting until I decided that enough was enough.  
  
“Suck it, you rascal!” My master growled as his patience was wearing thin.  
  
Slowly, I stroked the base of that hardness with my tongue and its extension with my cheek, lowering my head to pass the tongue along the crease between the thigh and balls. My master let out a surprised groan and repeated his request, with a faltering voice that betrayed the golden boy behind the man's body. I smiled and continued with my slow licks.  
  
But my master was not ready to submit passively to my wishes, if I was not going to give him what he had already ordered twice, then there would be nothing, out of sheer stubbornness. I felt him put his feet on my shoulder to push me away from him with a kick, a move that I knew how to exploit for my own purposes: I passed my arm under his thigh, put my hand on his buttock and pulled him towards me, making his foot slide off my shoulder and putting his ball in reach of my mouth.  
  
Without hesitation, I put one of his balls into my mouth and started to caress it with my tongue. My master took a deep breath, surprised, maybe a little scared, I never had one of his balls in my mouth and maybe he was afraid that I would bite him, but I would never do that, I only the press it against my palate with my tongue before taking the other to give it the same care. I did not know if my master was pleased with that strange caress or decided that half of the gift was better than the whole disappointment, but he relaxed and let me do, contenting himself with stroking my head from time to time to encourage me to keep going.  
  
I continued kissing around, but soon I decided to give him what wanted so badly, among other things because I was feeling that my trousers were somewhat tight. My hands left his body, because I had my own unmet needs, but he did not miss my touch I passed my tongue in all its extension once more before I close my lips around his head and began to raise and lower my head in a rhythmic manner, caressing it with my tongue, trying to adjust the movement of my hand inside my own clothes correspondingly.  
  
I found that trying these power games with my master did not work as expected either, apparently he had lost his concentration, and the magnificent erection in my mouth was losing its sturdiness. I tried to return its vigor, for I was overcome with his scent, enjoying the piece of meat in my mouth. I knew he was doubled over, his hands were caressing my neck, my head, my shoulders, his heavy breathing filled my ears and I could smell his sweat. I took me not too long to leave a wet spot on my clothes.  
  
I was about to change my mouth by my hands, more than anything to rest my jaw that ached from being so long in service when I heard him mention a woman's name, a name that dripped poison and tasted like tears. The blood drained from my body and the impulse to abandon him gripped me. Simultaneously, I felt his cock in my mouth hardened like an iron rod.  
  
My master claimed his position. Without rage, he took a lock of my hair and pulled me toward him, using my hair like reins. I found myself with my mouth full of his hardness and forced myself to keep providing my services, but I was uncertain of what was happening. My master did not seem to notice my discomfort and he began to move his hips to complement my movements.  
  
A few moments later, it was over and I could feel his warm pleasure pouring down my throat and his wet belly, trembling against my forehead. I swallowed and waited for him to release me or to order me to continue. His way of letting me know that he had finished with me was to place his foot on my shoulder and thrown me backwards. It was the same kick that he would dedicate to an empty bottle and I ended up on the floor, lying on my back, just like an empty container. As I fell, I noticed that my master was more asleep than awake and part of me reacted with pride.  
  
I got to my feet and looked him. He was sprawled in his bed, sated of wine and pleasure. Again, I wondered why I had followed him, what kept me by his side and why the hell I was not out of here. The answer came to me immediately: Because he was my master, that's why.

I needed not another reason.  
  
I smiled as I threw the blankets over his frame to spare him the morning cold.


End file.
